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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28147884">Familiar</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/elospock/pseuds/elospock'>elospock</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:36:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,106</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28147884</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/elospock/pseuds/elospock</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A little glimpse of Will's life, twenty years later.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Yuletide 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Familiar</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/stickmarionette/gifts">stickmarionette</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Happy Yuletide, dear friend! It was so lovely to write this little piece at your request. The "His Dark Materials" trilogy has lived in my heart for close to 20 years now, it's is very high in my list of favourite books of all times. I'm always so delighted to get the chance to revisit this universe, and contribute to this fandom! I feel like every time I read the trilogy, I find new depths and things I hadn't noticed or didn't remember. ANYWAY, I could gush about these books for days, and I just hope that this little story will do at least partly justice to my deep love for this universe.</p><p>Although I love so many characters of the series, I think I always related to Will a little more, as a kid. I never did take the time to explore what his life would be now before, and I must say, it's been so fun to do! Thank you for giving me the opportunity to do so :)</p><p>Hope you enjoy it! Wishing you the best, and I hope that wherever you are, you and your loved ones are safe. &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Will closed the door behind him quickly, a flurry of snow and cold wind making their way inside his tiny—but cosy—apartment. He sighed in relief as he let his back hit the door and finally let the tension in his shoulders dissolve for the first time since he had left in the early hours before dawn.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He put down his shoulder bag on one of the old white leather chairs as he slowly removed his coat and his boots, the snow fast melting and leaving a trail of droplets on the carpet. God, it felt good to be home.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Will’s place was old but well maintained enough; nothing truly special but also nothing to complain about. He’d been really lucky to find it in the first place, when he moved there more than three years ago now. Compared to the price flats and houses were renting everywhere in the city, it was a bargain he was only too happy to be able to afford. Rent increases had been brutal over the past few years. And since he lived alone—not that he would want it any other way—anything quickly became unaffordable or above his means, even if he was earning a decent salary nowadays.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Will went to check on the plant near the window, sole survivor of the overly warm cast iron radiators. It got so warm here sometimes that he often had to get his windows wide open in the middle of winter to make it tolerable. It was an ancient heating system, that even his landlords didn’t know how to regulate properly. As a result, the whole building remained suffocatingly warm well into spring. Still, it was better than the opposite, he guessed. He’d lived in many places in his life, and he certainly didn’t miss waking up to a half frozen glass of water on his nightstand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. It was a message from his mom asking him at what time he was going to be there tomorrow. It finally dawned on him that he was off work for the next two weeks. He couldn’t remember the last time he had two full weeks off. Every year of the past decade, it seemed, there was always something close to the holidays, a deadline, an emergency. A funeral. A breakup. A wedding. Another breakup.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Life was this weird thing, right? Sometimes, it felt like things just fell into place, not magically—Will knew better than to believe in “magic”, or at least, in his world’s understanding of it—but it really felt like there was a grand scheme of things; like there was a complex web of intertwining strings that would always be beyond his understanding. He smiled wistfully. He had never believed in God—and certainly didn’t believe in religion, especially after having had run-ins with the Magisterium and Lyra’s world. And well, it’s not like he needed proof that God existed; if there was one thing he had, it was proof. Somehow, even after everything that had happened and all the things he had witnessed, even knowing that there once was, indeed, a creature that could be called “God”, that didn’t change anything about his faith. He knew what he believed in; he believed in science and he believed in—love. And that somehow, both were connected, through elementary particles, through this Dust, this ethereal, immemorial, collective consciousness that left an imprint on every sentient beings’ life, and which had been his lifelong study ever since he got the credentials to be allowed to do so.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t exactly know why the holidays always made him miss Lyra; it wasn’t as though they had ever had the opportunity to celebrate them together, they had no memories attached to Christmas or New Year or any other winter celebrations. If they even had any. Didn’t Lyra talk about—what was it, Michaelmas? For the umpteenth time, he regretted having forever lost access to this trivial knowledge of Lyra’s world. How he longed to contrast and compare everything that made them eerily similar, and everything that made them so intrinsically different.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And maybe that was exactly why he couldn’t help but think about her, and wonder once again what it would have been like to spend so much more time with her. He had been so young, they both had been so young, when all those wild adventures happened. It was weird to think about it almost twenty years after. It felt both so fresh in his heart, and also a lifetime away. Several lifetimes away even. So much had changed in the past two decades. And yet so little.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of course, that was the timing that Kirjava chose to finally get out from under the couch—one of her favourite hiding spots. “You know I can hear you think, right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He rolled his eyes, but seeing her always filled his heart with a softness beyond words; nothing else in the world made him feel so grounded and secure than the moment he could feel Kirjava’s presence directly, as opposed to mutedly, when he was away from her. After all those years, one would think the separation got easier; but it never did. And though the pain was familiar, it would always be a wound that would never fully heal. Each time he had to leave her behind, it was like poking the wound with a needle, just deep enough to make it sting, but not enough to make it bleed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sat on the couch and she jumped in his lap. They both sighed unconsciously as he started to caress her thick soft fur. He could feel some residual dampness on her back. “Did you go out?” he asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I did.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mhmmm. That explains why I suddenly got cold this afternoon, I gather.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kirjava sniffed. “Well, you know I love the snow, I couldn’t resist.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Will laughed. “That you do. I guess we both do, but I think I didn’t realise just quite how much before seeing you play in it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She shook her head. “I truly don’t know how you were able to do anything and know anything about yourself before I got here, sometimes.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Will smiled fondly at her. “Me neither, to be honest.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They remained in a companionable silence for a while. That was one of his favourite moments of the day, just basking in his deamon’s presence, feeling his heart synch with hers, their thoughts echoing each other. There was something so powerful in their connection, even though it would alway be severed, never fully whole. But then again, wasn’t that just life? Didn’t everyone start whole, daemon or not, traveling to the world of the dead or not, and didn’t life just chip away every being’s soul, year after year, a little bit more?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Someone’s feeling philosophical,” softly said Kirjava.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Will shrugged. “‘Tis the season.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sensing his budding melancholia, Kirjava jumped on his shoulder to curl herself around his neck. “What do you think they are doing?” she whispered in his ear.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t have to ask who she was referring to. “I wish I could know. I wish there was a way to know,” he replied, as he usually did when she asked the question.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How is your research going?” she asked, rubbing her head against his cheek.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He exhaled loudly. “Honestly, I don’t know, Kir. I’m either very close to finding something incredible or unprecedented, or something absolutely unexceptional, like nothing at all. No half measures here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re burning yourself out,” she reprimanded him. “You’re burning </span>
  <em>
    <span>us</span>
  </em>
  <span> out.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He rolled his eyes. “As though you’re not every bit as invested in this as I am.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not for the first—or the last—time, he wished he could bring Kirjava to work more often. He sneaked her in a few times, but it was always so risky. How could you explain bringing your very large cat to work on a regular basis, let alone when, like Will, you worked at the Department of Experimental Psychology? I mean, fair enough, some of his colleagues were weird enough, but even they would find it odd. And the last thing he wanted was to attract attention in that way. His research was already bizarre and complex, no need to add a layer of suspicion and of “look at the crazy guy with the cat doing these weird experiments”. That was just asking for them to transfer him to the Centre for Psychological Health—as an inpatient. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Still, he occasionally brought her to the lab on weekends, when he knew none of his coworkers would be there. But there had been one too many close calls; once, Will had to pretend that he had just been stopping by to grab his wallet on his way to the vet, because a coworker had unexpectedly decided to work on a Saturday as well. He wasn’t sure his coworker bought it, but they didn’t mention the incident again, and ever since, Will hadn’t dared bring his daemon to work. It was just too risky.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He missed her, though, and her input. She helped him think, and make sense of the thoughts and ideas in his mind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course, I’m invested. I want our research to succeed just as much as you do. But you need rest, Will. You’re exhausted.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He ran a hand through his short hair. “Yeah. You’re right about that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kirjava jumped back on his lap, looking up at him sternly. “Of course I am. I’m always right.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He laughed and shoved her playfully. “You self-important brat.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She stretched languorously before jumping down the couch. “Well, one of us has to be. Certainly won’t be you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He smiled. He was so grateful for his daemon. Once again, he wondered what it would have been like to grow up with her, like Lyra had with Pan. How different his lonely boyhood would have been if he had had this tangible friend built in his life. But then again, he probably wouldn’t be the person he was today if he had. It was some sort of catch-22; maybe he wouldn’t have found Cittàgazze and Lyra if he’d had Kirjava as a child, but then he wouldn’t have found Kirjava at all if he hadn’t met Lyra and had had the lonely childhood that he had.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What time are we leaving tomorrow?” asked Kirjava from the kitchen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dunno. Around noon?” he replied. “It’s not like they’re living that far from here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kirjava rolled her eyes. “That never stopped you before from showing up late.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oy! No one asked for your opinion!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kirjava winked at him before jumping on the windowsill. The snow was falling thickly now, framing the whole neighbourhood, the whole city with a soft white veil.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You think Mary is going to try to bake some new puddings this year?” she asked, after a beat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Will groaned. “Golly, I hope not.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What are the odds though?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sighed. “Nonexistent. Absolutely nonexistent.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sometimes,” said the daemon, “I truly wonder what your mom sees in her.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Will laughed as he opened the fridge, looking for something edible. “You mean, besides being one of the best humans in the world, being a passionate and committed wife, partner, co-parent and friend? Besides being a truly badass scientist and one of the most prominent in her field? Besides—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, alright, I get it, she’s great,” interjected Kirjava, rolling her eyes, but Will knew it was all for show. Kirjava adored Mary. “But you’d just started telling me about your research—what makes you think you might be on the verge of discovering something?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Will heard the words, but was still too focused on the content—or lack thereof—of his fridge.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mhmm, will tell you all about it, but after we order in. Too hungry to cook.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, what are you thinking?” she replied, turning her body to face Will completely.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t you just tell me that you were able to hear me think?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She sighed quite audibly. “Alright, be like that. Don’t forget to ask for an extra naan bread this time.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was his turn to wink, before he closed the fridge and picked up his phone. “Will do!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hurry up though,” said Kirjava, “I want to know where we are at regarding our patients and measuring dust subjectively through their dream patterns!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re gonna be so intrigued, Kir!” he replied, as he typed in the restaurant number. ”I’ve been getting so many incredibly fascinating readings lately, and it feels like I’m starting to see a pattern or—Hi, this is Will Parry, I’d like to order—”</span>
</p><p>
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